


The Aftereffects

by brevitas



Series: Not the Face! [5]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, superhero au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:51:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brevitas/pseuds/brevitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire notices upon waking that something is different about Enjolras and unfortunately, he can't quite put his finger on what's changed. In the meantime he meets the last three Amis boys and they discuss what they're going to do with Blackbird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Aftereffects

When Courfeyrac wakes he’s disoriented. He’s wearing the shape of a tiger but that isn’t the confusing part; he distinctly remembers the innate knowledge of dying and yet, here he is.

He sits up gracelessly, putting most of his weight on his front paws, and sluggishly returns to his human shape. His suit, built to echo his powers, protects him from nakedness. “Enjolras,” he says roughly, and sees that his friend is sitting beside Grantaire. He lies in a fashion only the dead can manage, and Courfeyrac frowns. “Enjolras,” he repeats, stronger this time, and the blonde looks up with a slight smile.

“How are you feeling, Cour?” He asks and reaches out to touch Courfeyrac’s hand. He watches the empath’s eyes spin through colors as they decipher Enjolras’ emotions until they settle on a dark blue; _Pensiveness_ , he thinks with a frown. _Fitting_.

Courfeyrac tries on a smile and says, “Good, I think. At least better than I was.”

They laugh together but it’s subdued, and Enjolras helps Courfeyrac to his feet. Marius is still on the ground though his splayed limbs have been rearranged, and he looks more like he’s sleeping than unconscious. At Courfeyrac’s concerned look Enjolras says, “He’s fine—they only knocked him out.”

Enjolras turns back to Courfeyrac and nods towards Grantaire. “We need to move him,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. “Do you want me to wait until Bahorel can come help?”

“No,” Courfeyrac answers with a shake of his head. “I owe it to him to at least take him somewhere to recover.”

Enjolras nods and he takes Grantaire’s head, Courfeyrac at his feet. They grab him and start to lift but Courfeyrac’s eyes start going through a kaleidoscope of colors while they straighten, all of them dark (the most strongly felt emotions, Enjolras knows).

“Courfeyrac?” He asks worriedly, and his friend looks up, his eyes so dark they appear to be black.

Courfeyrac swallows and says faintly, “I’m fine.” Enjolras can’t do anything but accept that, and as they walk to Grantaire’s bedroom Enjolras watches Courfeyrac’s obsidian eyes.

Once they have Grantaire settled everyone starts to do clean-up. They move Marius to his room and decide to call Joly, Feuilly and Bossuet back—they’ve never had an attack on their home before, and they need to convene to decide what to do next. When the house is finally clean and all the broken glass swept up, Courfeyrac and Jehan decide to keep Grantaire company.

Jehan knows that something is bothering Courfeyrac; he doesn’t need to be an empath to pick up on it. They’re playing poker when randomly Courfeyrac says, “Maybe we should try to convince him to wear some sort of costume.”

Grantaire’s body lies still on the bed to their right, and reminded of him, both boys look. He does not move; Combeferre has hooked him up to a heart monitor and its endless tone fills the room.

“Yeah,” Jehan says with a small smile, stroking Hemlock who’s balanced sleepily on his thigh. “We should see if he’d want to.”

“A skintight one,” Courfeyrac adds with a laugh, and his eyes fade from their perpetual black to a soft yellow-orange (Jehan recognizes it as optimism with a smile he can’t quite hide). “With a lot of colors.”

“I’m not sure how successful that will be.” Jehan giggles, laying down a hand that decimates Courfeyrac’s. As he collects the pool of money he asks, “Do you even think he’ll stay around?”

Courfeyrac looks at him again (he’s so still; all he can think about is what if that was Grantaire’s last life and he never wakes up from this sacrifice) and shrugs. “I hope he stays,” he says honestly. “He’s a good fighter and we could use a few more of those with Blackbird hanging around."

Jehan agrees and remarks, "I think he really likes Enjolras too."

Courfeyrac laughs. "Course he does," he says as he draws cards for his hand. "The first thing Grantaire did for him was lay down his life. I can't imagine how he couldn’t love him already."

The boys leave after a few more games and assemble with their teammates in the kitchen. Joly and Bossuet are on their way in from France but Feuilly had just been in Maryland to answer an emergency beacon and his trip back was a lot faster. The redhead is slouching against the counters and chain-smoking when Courfeyrac and Jehan join them.

“We need to discuss our options,” Enjolras says, seated at the head of the table. “And most importantly what we want to do with Blackbird when we catch her.”

“She should be put to death,” Bahorel snipes. He’s bruised from the fight and nurses a swollen jaw, holding a raw steak to the wound. “We need to remind all the other villains that we don’t fuck around.”

Jehan frowns. “But Blackbird is popular,” he points out, rubbing under Hemlock’s chin. “If we kill her we could potentially upset a lot of other villains that before had no reason to attack us. Giving them an excuse to work together will not serve us well.”

Combeferre agrees with Jehan and says, “I believe Jehan has the greatest authority on that. She must live, whatever other punishment we decide.” The telepath’s comment on Jehan’s experience is not made in jest and everyone accepts it, even Bahorel (albeit begrudgingly).

“Jail then?” Feuilly asks, exhaling smoke from his nose. “We haven’t sent someone to prison in a while.”

Enjolras resists reminding them that they don’t ever send villains to prison because they have a bad habit of getting out—they know this as well as their fearless leader but stripped of murder, they don’t have an alternative. “Fine,” Enjolras says, rising from the table. “Jail it is.”

He points at Combeferre, says, “Get Feuilly caught up on what he’s missed. Jehan, I want you to phone Joly and Bossuet and see where they are; Courfeyrac, I need you to keep an eye on Marius. You know his metabolism is different than ours and we don’t know yet if the IV drip is enough to sustain him.”

He walks to the door and Bahorel calls, “Where are you going then, boss?”

“To see Grantaire,” is the only answer he gives before breezing out the door.

+++++

Grantaire believes that one day he might get used to the feeling of waking up but this is not that day, and he opens his eyes with an alarmed coughing fit that fades to desperate gulps of air. The heart monitor that had become somewhat of a background soundtrack for the bedroom stutters and then begins erratically beeping as his heart kickstarts and he wheezes a few breaths, trying to fit back into his body.

It takes him a moment to notice that he isn’t alone, and that Enjolras, who somehow slept through his loud revival, is slumped halfway onto Grantaire’s bed and sleeping. He doesn’t look comfortable and Grantaire wonders what he’s doing in here at all.

He is going to wake him, truly he is, but he gets distracted looking. Enjolras is quite unlike anybody he has ever met before and Grantaire’s past spans centuries; he wonders about the youth’s mortality, how he lives so vibrantly that even in sleep he seems an artist’s muse.

Grantaire is still staring at him when Combeferre says, _As entertaining as this is, I really need you to wake him up_. He sounds amused, which is possibly the only reason his voice doesn’t scare Grantaire half to death.

“Why do you need to wake him?” He asks the room, and Enjolras stirs to his voice, one hand twitching in the sheets. “Does this kid ever even sleep?”

Combeferre sighs. _I wouldn’t wake him if it wasn’t important_ , he says. _He asked Joly and Bossuet to come home and they just landed. Courfeyrac is picking them up at the airport but I figured he’d like to talk to them._

Grantaire snorts and considers telling Combeferre to do his own dirty work but Enjolras is sitting with him for apparently no other reason but to wait for him to wake up, and he can’t really hold a grudge to that. “Fine,” he grumbles, pushing the sheets off his legs. “Enjolras? Enjolras, Combeferre needs you.”

Enjolras wakes like a trained soldier; his eyes open as soon as Grantaire says ‘needs’ and he sits up, blinking his eyes a few times to clear them of sleep. He looks at Grantaire, frowns, opens his mouth to say something, thinks it over, and finally asks, “What does he need?”

“Apparently Joly and Bossuet are on their way back from the airport,” he says, picking at his frayed thrift store jeans. “He thought you’d want to talk to them.”

“Ah.” Enjolras pushes a hand back through his gold hair, forcefully shoving the long locks away from his face. He’s quiet for a minute then says slowly, “Thank you. For healing Courfeyrac, I mean.”

Grantaire shrugs and flippantly says, “Not a big deal.” His entire demeanor changes when Enjolras reaches out and sets a hand over his own, squeezing until Grantaire looks at him. He’s startled at the contact and stares, his dark blue eyes off-kilter.

“I mean it,” Enjolras says steadily. “I really appreciate it.”

Grantaire nods once and Enjolras severs the connection, standing with a smile. “I suppose I should go then,” he says. “If you feel up to it you’re invited to join us; we’ll be in the front living room.”

He leaves without another remark and Grantaire watches the door swing shut behind him, absentmindedly rubbing at his hand.

+++++

It takes Grantaire a while to follow Enjolras; he doesn’t usually forfeit his life so frequently and it’s taking his body a while to catch up with all the depleted energy. When he first tries to stand he falls and nearly takes out the vase balanced on his bedside table and is able to get back onto his bed only through sheer determination. Eventually he finds he can walk if he really concentrates, and he hobbles to the living room to meet the Amis he hasn’t.

Courfeyrac sees him first and Grantaire frowns at the color his eyes, where dark blue and pink mingle like two flavors of ice cream brought together to melt in a bowl. He has no idea what the color means and, safely gloved, Jehan leans over and pats Courfeyrac’s knee (so Grantaire can assume it’s nothing positive).

He sits down beside him anyway, needing to use the armrest to settle his weight, and doesn’t notice he’s garnered all the eyes in the room until Combeferre asks with a frown, “Are you hurt?”

Grantaire looks up, notices there are three new faces gathered on the couch opposite him and figures they must have brought that other fellow home too. “Uh, not really,” he answers with a shrug. “Just sore.” Everybody continues looking at him so he says blithely, “And who are these three fellows?”

The redhead with the wild hair is smoking, and blows smoke when he says, “I’m Feuilly.” He holds a hand out that Grantaire accepts and almost immediately drops—electricity thrums beneath his skin and the current from even that short of contact had nearly deadened his arm.

“Sorry,” Feuilly says, not sounding sorry at all. “Just wanted to see.”

Jehan leans around Courfeyrac and supplies helpfully, “His hero name is Thunderbird.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says, managing a laugh. “That’s fitting.”

“I’m Bossuet.” This comes from a bald black man who, even devoid of hair, is ridiculously attractive. Combeferre snorts a laugh into his hand and Grantaire knows he picked up on the thought, shoots the telepath a sidelong glance. “Or Serendipity.”

“Serendipity?” Grantaire echoes curiously. He only then notices that Bossuet and the last man are holding hands, their fingers curled fittingly together.

“He affects probability,” Enjolras says. His legs are crossed at the knee and he’s watching Grantaire with those same hooded blue eyes as before, wearing an expression Grantaire still cannot decipher. “He’s also somewhat of an amplifier and dampener of powers.”

Grantaire lifts an eyebrow and looks back at him; Bossuet has the grace to blush. “It’s pretty helpful.”

He strokes his thumb over the other man’s knuckles and it is only then the brunette offers his name, so quietly it’s nearly a whisper. “Joly,” he says softly, then a pause, then adds, “Or Frequency.”

Grantaire is trying to decide why he’s speaking so softly when an answer is supplied to him via Combeferre. _He screams._ Grantaire glances at the telepath, confused as to what his vocal preferences in bed have to do with this. _Not during sex_ , Combeferre says with a sigh Grantaire can hear. _His power is screaming. He can pitch his voice loud enough to kill people and when he’s working with Bossuet, he’s capable of leveling an entire city._

Now _that_ is impressive, and Grantaire looks at this quiet Joly with a new found respect.

“Now that introductions are over,” Enjolras says primly, “We need to make a plan of attack against Blackbird.” He looks at Grantaire and for a moment the drunkard is expecting to get dismissed, so he’s surprised when instead Enjolras says, “You’re welcome to contribute any thoughts too, Grantaire.”

“Oh,” he says, smiling. “Thanks.”

**Author's Note:**

> aha finally you've got to meet all the boys! ;3; this is a true accomplishment, friends.
> 
> requested by three tumblr anons ;D
> 
> so here we have it, everybody has been met. Cosette is still hanging out in the wings for those wondering, she's got a part in this story too but it's gonna be a little later probably :) 
> 
> kind of a boring chapter so forgive me! sometimes boring things need to happen for exciting things to have a place c:
> 
> tumblr is idfaciendumest, follow me or ask me things or request things from me C:


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